THE
Thresher
's Miscellany: OR, POEMS ON Several Subjects,
Written by ARTHUR DUCK. Now a poor
Thresher
in the County of
Suffolk,
at the Wages of Five Shillings and Six Pence
per
Week, though formerly an
Eton-
Scholar.
Dedicated to the Right Honourable the EARL of MACCLESFIELD, in Order to be Read to Her Majesty, and in Hopes of Her most Gracious Favour.
By Virtue of a Natural Right, to my own Property, I do hereby appoint my Name sake
Arthur Moore
to print these POEMS, and that no other Person presume to print the same.
ARTHUR DUCK.
LONDON:
Printed for A. MOORE, near St.
Paul
's. 1730. (Price Six Pence.)
TO THE Earl of MACCLESFIELD.
My LORD,
BY
Civil Law
the DUCKS first got a Name,
ARTHUR DUCK, LL.D. wrote a most excellent Treatise, intitled,
De Authoritate Juris Civilis,
8vo.
And STEPHEN's
Flail,
not
Verse,
has rais'd his Fame.
My Rural-Lines if
Macclesfield
but Read,
Will also, with my SOVERAIGN succeed.
Read
then
most Noble Earl, O
read
once more,
And let my
Poetry
increase my
Store,
THOMAS TUSSER (a
Suffolk
Farmer)
Flor. Temp.
EDW. VI.
TUSSER's Five Hundred Points of Husbandry
In Verse; records his Name above the Sky.
Let not the
Witlings
then of
London-
Town,
Cry up
Grubaean-
Trash, and cry
Us
down
Allusion to
Persius,
Sat. 1. Vers. 10 and 11.
— this vast universal Fool, the Town,
Shou'd cry up
Lab
's Stuff, and cry Me down.
DRYDEN.
;
Parnassian-
Heights, a
Sylvan-
Muse may try,
Thus—Britain
's Queen, with
Sheba
's Queen, may
vie.
O let this Truth, my Lord, but pave my way,
And your Petitioner shall ever pray,
&c.
ARTHUR DUCK.
SOME ACCOUNT OF MY LIFE.
Gentle Reader,
T HE good Town of
Ipswich
now boasts the Honour of
my Birth,
as it formerly did that of the great Cardinal
Wolsey.
I was conceived in
Sin
and brought forth in
Iniquity, Anno
1680, so that I am double the Age of my Cousin
Stephen Duck,
and have therefore, you may rationally suppose,
Ploughed, Harrowed,
and
Threshed,
twice as long, and all to no Purpose, unless the good Earl of
Macclesfield
will likewise read some of my
Parnassian
-Labours to our most Gracious Queen; but, I live in hopes that his Lordship will grant me this humble Boon, and that my Kinsman and I, may share one equal Fate.
As to my Education, the most learned Dr.
Arthur Duck,
being my Godfather, I was by his Interest got upon the Foundation of
Eton
-College, and having gone through my School-Studies, I was, as well as my Countryman
Thomas Tusser,
for sometime a Student in the University of
Cambridge.
In this seminary of the Muses, our
Alma-Mater
being peevish, fretful, and generally out of Humour, I could not so much as Rhime my self into a College-Fellowship. This I took, as
Hudibras
says, in great
Dudgeon,
more especially, since it is well known that the whole
Race of the DUCKS were born Poets.
I left
King's
-College, and came to assist my Parents in their Farming-Business at
Ipswich
; where I soon found that
Corn
and
Hops
came to a much better Market than
Greek
and
Latin.
Tho' in this first Part of my Rustic-Miscellany,
I hope th' impartial Reader will discern,
I ne'er invok'd the Muses in a Barn.
Upon the Death of my intestate Parents, being an only Child, there fell to me, by right of Inheritance, a very decent Country-Legacy,
viz.
Good store of Grain, the Pastures well stockt with Cattle, Provender for their Winter-Sustenance, and a round sum of Money. But, as
Horace
says,
My Way-ward, wandring Mind did not approve,
My happy State; I was inclin'd to rove:
And soon experienced the fatal Consequences attending such a Temper. In short, I had no Notion of foreign Travel; nothing would serve me, but making the Tour of
Change-Alley
; where, in that memorable Year of Chronology 1720, I fell a Victim on the Altar which made a daily Sacrifice both of
Cit
and
Bumpkin.
Thus having sunk the
Scholar
in the
Farmer
; and the
Farmer
having undergone a
South-Sea
Ship wreck; I am now reduced to my Kinsman's Pristine Vocation of
God speed the Plough.
My Wages, are indeed, five Shillings and Six-pence
per
Week, our County of
Suffolk
giving one Shilling more than they do in
Wiltshire
; tho' alas, at this Price, it is with great Difficulty that
Buckle
and
Throng,
as we say, are brought together. However, I am in hopes of seeing better Days,
Redeunt
Saturnia
Regna.
To conclude, in one Word, my sole Trust is in my noble Patron, therefore
Whate'er thro'
Carolina
's Hand is sent,
I'll praise Earl
Macclesfield,
and be Content.
ARTHUR DUCK.
P. S.
I intend, God willing, to publish a
second Part
of this
Miscellany,
before the Meeting of the Parliament, by way of
New-Years-Gift.
ROGER and URSULA: Or, LOVE in a HOG-STY.
I.
GAFFER
and
Gammer
were fast in their Nest,
And all the
young Fry
of their Cribs were possess'd;
Spott, Whitefoot,
and
Puss
in the Ashes were laid,
And a blinking Rush-Candle burnt over their Head.
And a blinking Rush,
&c.
II.
URS'LA was washing her Dishes and Platter,
Preparing to make her good Friend the
Hog
satter;
Greas'd up to the Elbows, as much to the Eye,
'Till her 'broidered Cloaths were e'en ready to fry.
'Till her 'broidered,
&c.
III.
Close by Her, ROGER the Plowman lay snoring,
CUPID being vex'd at his clownish adoring;
Did straightway convey to the great Loggerhead,
The whispering News, that they all were in Bed.
The whispering
&c.
IV.
Upstarted ROGER, and rubbing his Eyes,
To his dearest sweet URS'LA in a Passion he flies;
Then leaning his Elbows on URS'LA's broad Back,
He complain'd that his Heart was e'en ready to crack.
He complain'd,
&c.
V.
URS'LA being vex'd at the Weight of her Love,
Cry'd, CUPID, why dost Thou thus treacherous prove?
In an angry Mood she then turn'd her about,
And the Dish Clout lapp'd over the Face of the Lout.
And the,
&c.
VI.
ROGER being angry at such an Affront,
And not at all minding what wou'd come on't;
He gave her a Kick, with such wonderous Mettle,
As tumbled poor URS'LA quite over the Kettle.
As tumbl'd,
&c.
VII.
At the Noise of this rumbling the
Gaffer
awaken,
And fearing lest Thieves had been stealing his
Bacon
;
With a Pur in his Hand, down Stairs he comes stumbling,
Where he found
Roger
gaping whilst
Urs'la
lay tumbling.
Where he found,
&c.
VIII.
Pox take ye, quoth he, for a
Rogue
and a
Whore,
So he turn'd these poor
Lovers
quite out of the Door,
(Ne'er minding the
Rain,
nor the
cold
windy Weather,)
To
finish
their
Loves
in a
Hog-Sty
together.
To finish,
&c.
The MILK-MAID, a Song.
To the Tune of,
When bright
Aurelia,
&c.
I.
MARIA
when the Paps you press,
Each Morn beneath the
Cow
;
Do not the secret Thoughts of Bliss,
Your Mind with fancied Joys possess,
And make you long to know?
II.
See then the gentle curling Stream,
That fills your Pail so full,
'Tis turn'd to Floods of luscious Cream,
Whene'er the
Milk-Maid
chance to Dream,
She's stroaking of a
Bull.
III.
Let easier Work your Arms employ
Take better Things in Hand,
Since Heaven has made you fit for Joy,
Have Pity on the Amorous Boy,
Nor let him weeping stand.
IV.
Then leave off making three-meal
-Cheese,
For every
Plowman
's Turn;
The softer
Curds
of
Beauty
squeeze,
And make
Love's-Butter
come with ease,
By jumbling
Nature's Churn.
The PLOWMAN's Wish to his FRIEND.
Votatus brevit
,
&c.
Mart.
SINCE you, whom all the World admires
Wou'd know what your poor Friend requires,
Some little Spot of Earth he prays
To pass
Incognito
his Days.
Who'd venture Conscience, Ease, and Health,
For empty Pleasures, useless Wealth?
Who'd be the tawdry Fool of War,
Or the more noisy Knave at Bar?
That might in his own Fields and Wood,
Find his Diversion, and his Food.
His Ponds with various
Fishes
stor'd,
The
Bees
for him their Honey hoard.
A
Nut-brown
LASS both kind and neat
To make his Bed, and dress his Meat.
He that hates me, or likes not this,
May he ne'er know so sweet a Bliss.
But fool'd with Riches, or Renown,
Still stay behind, and rot in Town.
Now or Never: Or, the MAID's Counsellor.
I.
CONSULT, dear Nymph, your faithful Glass,
The Chrystal Streams, the bord'ring Grass,
Then think how Youth and Beauty pass.
II.
MARIA once so fair and young,
No more's the burthen of our Song,
Since cruel TIME has done her Wrong.
III.
His
Scythe
has Mown her
Rosy Cheek,
Cut down the
Lillies
of her Neck,
And crop'd the
Flowers
which Maids bedeck.
IV.
Her Eyes that pierc'd the yielding Soul,
The
Toast
to ev'ry
Shepherd
's Bowl,
Shall now no more our Hearts controul.
V.
Her
Voice
so sweet, she use to rear,
As brought the list'ning
Birds
to hear,
No longer Charms th' attentive Ear.
VI.
Her
Lips
like
Comb
for
Honey
prest,
Like
Balls
of
Snow,
her melting
Breast,
By envious Age she's all undrest.
VII.
Every
Rose
with drooping Leaves,
An Emblem of the
Virgin
gives,
Whose foolish Pride herself deceives.
VIII.
Then
Damsels
mark the
fading
Flow'r,
Presume no longer in your Pow'r,
Blossom
's vanish every Hour.
IX.
Let then the
Youth
no longer mourn,
Nor, by destructive
Passion,
burn,
For Charms once
gone
can ne'er
return.
Epitaph on my Uncle's APE.
UNDER this Slate do lye the last Remains
Of one, whom self-conceited Man disdains,
And scoffing calls an APE; but MAN was he,
If
Tumblers,
or if
Dancing-Masters
be.
He did, Alive, in
either Art
excel;
And now's
Gallanted,
by
Old-Maids,
in
Hell.
DAMON: Or, The Shepherd's PARADISE.
I.
WHERE Pines and Cedars form a Wood,
On either side a Chrystal Flood;
Where CUPID makes his chief Abode,
And softest Scenes of Love.
Where Innocence adorns the Swain,
Where FLORA crowns the verdant Plain,
And PHILOMELA tunes a main,
The Bounties of great JOVE.
II.
Where Plenty crowns each smiling Brow,
Without the toilsome Help of Plow,
The
Flocks
do bleat, and
Oxen
low,
While Birds melodious Sing;
And warble forth Dame Nature's Praise,
Where
Phoebus
sheds his brightest Rays,
Bestowing on those happy Days,
An everlasting Spring.
III.
Here wou'd I chuse some
rural Fair,
The only Object of my Care,
Nor be forsworn, nor yet despair,
By modern Arts betray'd.
Her Choice shou'd fix her Love on me,
Her Words and Actions all be free,
If GRATIANA such wou'd be,
My Happiness were made.
IV.
Her Eyes wou'd give a chearful Day,
Her Smiles make ev'ry Shade look gay,
While at her Sight the Flocks wou'd play,
And Linnets stretch their Voice;
And sure where'er my VENUS moves
The
Shrubs
shou'd rise to
Myrtle Groves,
And I'd supply a
Train of Loves,
And
get a Race of Boys.
CAROLETTA: Or, The Shepperdess.
MENALCAS sure deserves the Bays,
Who aims at CAROLETTA's Praise,
An airy, gay, and frisking She,
Not Fond, but without Coyness, free:
Her pretty Freedoms please the Wise,
And none are Jealous who have Eyes,
None can suspect the
Lovely Fair,
Or think Hypocrisy dwells there.
Trace Her thro' ev'ry Part and Grace,
Thro' ev'ry Lineament of Face,
A living Miracle you'll find,
Of Body blended with the Mind;
A Humour Debonâir and Fit
To match her Beauty and her Wit:
By Beauty form'd to charm Mankind,
To conquer all our Sex design'd;
For Wit and Repartee renown'd,
With Words that Cure as well as Wound.
As when they cut a Brilliant-Stone
Such as with PIT of late was known,
At ev'ry Chip a Jewel flies,
And Sparkles after Sparkles rise;
So when you once this Nymph provoke,
To Raillery, or chearful Joke,
New Beauties in each Notion shine,
New Turns of Thought with Thought combine,
Wit uncontroul'd which nought can stem,
And ev'ry Sentence is a Gem.
PHILLIS, a Song.
I.
LET Fops of vain Happiness proud,
Delight in Appearance and Noise;
Their Pleasures divide with the Croud,
The Wise are more nice in their Joys.
II.
My PHILLIS is charming alone,
And all that behold her adore,
Then if I wou'd keep her my own,
No Rival must know of my Store.
III.
Adieu to the rest of Mankind,
To Desarts I fain wou'd retire;
In PHILLIS alone I shall find,
Whatever I want or desire.
IV.
For soon as her Beauties appear,
New Brightness enlightens the Plain;
And only attended by her,
I'll envy no Monarch his Train.
POLYPHEMUS to his MISTRESS, from
Ovid.
O GALATEA, Thou'rt the Flow'r of
May,
Tall as a Poplar, as a Meadow gay;
Splendid as Glass, gamesome as any Kid,
Airy as Cockles toss'd by ev'ry Tide;
Grateful as Summer's Shade, or Winter's Shine,
Sweet as an Apple, sightly as a Pine;
Smoother than mellow Grapes, whiter than Snow,
Soft as a Swan, or Stroakings from the Cow;
And if you did not shun my fond Embrace,
Fair as a Garden where a Fountain plays.
Again; thou'rt wild as any Colt unbroke,
False as the Waves, obdurate as an Oak;
Weaker than sallow Twigs, or than the Vine,
Harder than Rocks, more Head-strong than the Rhine;
Proud as a Peacock when we him admire,
Sharper than Thorns, and hotter than the Fire;
Deaf as the Seas, cruel as Bears at Rut,
Fierce as an Adder trodden under Foot;
And what the greatest Plague of all I find,
You fly the Lover like the hunted Hind,
Fleeting as Air, and volatile as Wind.
Verses writ upon a GLASS.
'TIS generous Wine refines our Clay,
And makes our Souls out-shine the Day;
'Tis BACCHUS guards our
Health
and
Truth,
Inspires our
Wit,
preserves our
Youth
;
Enobles
Friendship,
downs
Deceit,
And smooths the
rugged Brow
of
Fate.
The only Cure of
gloomy Spleen,
The
Show'r
that makes our
Sky
serene,
Then since the GOD has crown'd our Cup,
'Twere
Folly
not to
drink it up.
The SPARROW, from CATULLUS.
Humbly Inscribed to my much respected and honoured Kins-Woman, Mrs. GRACE HOWARD.
MOURN all ye CUPIDS, Mourn ye
little
Loves,
Mourn ye fair Maids, and mourn ye pretty Doves;
My
Lesbia
's SPARROW Fate has rapt away,
Her darling Joy, and Pleasure of her Day.
Sweeter
he
was, than ever Tongue can tell,
Well worthy Love, and was belov'd as well:
The pretty
Sparrow
his own
Mistress
knew,
As well as infant
Babes
their
Mothers
do.
From
her
dear Lap his Wings he never mov'd,
But hover'd round, and show'd how well he lov'd;
Round her fair Bosom still
he
hopp'd and play'd,
And chirp'd with Joy about the lovely
Maid.
But now poor Bird! treads PLUTO's gloomy shore,
Never, ah! never to return once more.
And you dark Shades of Hell's infernal Reign,
Ten thousand Curses for your Plague remain:
Instant you seize on all that's Sweet and Gay,
Ev'n LESBIA's
Bird,
well-lov'd, you stole away.
O Fact accurst! poor TOM at last is dead,
Hangs his weak Neck, and droops his sickly Head:
Griev'd at the Loss my LESBIA too appears,
Swells her fair
Eye,
and reddens into
Tears.
To the Lady BRIDGET OSBORNE, with a Present of Grapes.
TH' Illustrious Planet that directs the Day,
To ev'ry Blade of Grass extends a Ray,
A Blaze of Incense has been known to move,
The Powers below us, and the Pow'rs above;
Then Thou, my FAIR, accept without disdain,
An humble Off'ring, from an humble Swain.
BRITANNIA is a Clime that well may boast
Its flow'ry Valleys, and its fruitful Coast;
Mild are the Seasons, fragrant is the Air,
Large are her Harvests, and her Product fair;
But far above the rest her
Vines
produce,
The loveliest Figure, and the kindest Juice.
Fruits fine as these could never be design'd,
For Creatures of a base and vulgar Kind;
No, they're design'd to entertain the Fair,
And such as Heav'n makes its peculiar Care;
For them th' ambitious Grove attempts the Sky,
The Fountains murmur, and the Breezes sigh;
For them the
Lilly
paints, the
Violet
blows,
And modest Blushes tinge the fragrant
Rose
;
For them the
Citron
loads its Boughs anew,
And the glad
Orange
takes a golden Hue;
For them gay Flow'rs enamel all the Mead,
And other
Olives
to the last succeed;
For them our SUN the cluster'd
Grape
refines,
For them our
Elms
are wedded with our
Vines,
And condescend to take the spousal Twines.
Thou fairest of thy Sex and best, to THEE
Are due the choicest Riches of the Tree,
Accept the ready Offerings of the Plain,
Confess th' Extent of this auspicious Reign,
And never let us pay our V
ws in vain.
So when of old the
Farmer
's Toil was o'er,
And all his Barns were crouded with his Store,
To that indulgent Power that gave him Peace,
And to his Corn, and to his Herds increase;
He paid the noblest Profits of the Year,
With rigid Justice, and Religious Fear.
EPIGRAMS.
YOU've often averr'd I'm the persectest Wit,
That ever you saw, or convers'd withal yet,
And I in return have has often profest,
That of all Womankind you're the fairest and best.
The Assertions of Both, are equally true,
For as you Laugh at me, so do I Laugh at you.
ANOTHER.
PHILANDER loads his Board with noble Fare,
And ev'ry one that comes is welcome there,
Be wise, PHILANDER, and thou than shalt see,
They love thy
Burgundy,
but Laugh at thee.
ANOTHER.
BELINDA is reduc'd, 'tis said,
To prostitute her self for Bread;
And if they're sure to hit the White,
That mingle Profit with Delight,
BELINDA's greatly in the Right.
ANOTHER.
Be not vain of your fancy'd Success I desire you,
Nor think that I love you because I admire you;
A Monster does doubtless deserve Admiration,
As much as the prettiest Girl in the Nation,
And hourly Experience, CORINNA, will show ye,
A GRANNY is stare'd at, as much as a CHLOE.
ANOTHER.
Sir GEORGE the most uncertain of Mankind,
Turns with the Tide, and wavers with the Wind;
For well he knows all Times will favour him,
Who makes no Conscience with the Times to Trim.
From MARTIAL.
As
Oaks
in stormy Seasons shed,
The treacherous Leaves they bear;
So CALVUS did but
shake
his
Head,
And off he
shook
his
Hair.
ANOTHER.
On Mr. PRIOR's Tomb in
Westminster-Abby.
This Busto
Lewis
gave our Bard, his Strains,
At least the best, are borrow'd from
Fontaine's:
Then what wou'd
Prior
be, shou'd
Gallia
claim,
Her
gifted
Monument, and
borrow'd
Fame!
An Imitation of OVID in
Distress.
Ille ego qui fneram tenerorum lusor-amorum.
I'M he who once indulg'd an amorous Vein,
And thought all Poets of a heavenly Strain,
My easy Heart each puny Girl subdu'd,
Coquets I flatter'd, and ador'd the Prude,
Thanks to my Muse for she those Joys refin'd,
Dissolv'd my Cares, and made
Corinna
kind,
Without restraint I pass'd my Youths best Hours,
In easy Studies, or in soft Amours.
You Father
Bacchus
now extend your Aid,
Remember I was once a roaring Blade,
The Gods themselves have Festivals of Mirth,
'Tis then they show'r their Blessings down on Earth;
And you dear Friends, and Brothers of the Quill,
Remember me, and each his Bumper fill,
When you the Name of honest
Naso
hear,
Set down the Glass, and drop a friendly Tear,
Look round about, and with a tender Voice,
Cry, where's the faithful Part'ner of our Joys,
Whilst I alone beguile the tedious Day,
With Books, and strive to read my Cares away;
I banish Fate's Unkindness from my Mind,
And fancy o'er the Joys I left behind;
My Muse to me is all the World beside,
My kind Physician, and my loving Bride.
EPITAPH on a SEXTON.
I.
HERE lies old HARE,
Worn out with Care,
Who whilom
toll'd
the
Bell,
Could
dig
a
Grave,
Or
set
a
Stave,
And say
Amen
full well.
II.
For
sacred Song,
He'ad HOPKIN's Tongue,
And STERNHOLD's
eke
also;
With
Cough
and
Hem,
He
stood
by
them,
As far's his
Word
would
go.
III.
Full many a
Feast,
For
Worms,
he
dress'd
;
Himself
yet wanted
Bread.
But he is
gone,
With
Skin
and
Bone,
To
Starve
'em now he's
Dead.
IV.
Here, take his
Spade,
And use his
Trade,
Now he is
out
of
Breath,
Cover the
Bones,
Of
him
who
once,
Wrought
Journey Work
for DEATH.
An Imitation of
Horace
's ODE on FORTUNE.
I.
SOME
hoist up
Fortune
to the
Skies,
Others
debase
her
to a
Bubble
;
I,
nor her
Frowns,
nor
Favours
prize,
Nor think the
Chang'ling
worth my Trouble.
II.
If, at my Door
she
chance to light,
I civilly my
Guest
receive;
The
Visit
paid, I bid
Good-Night
;
Nor murmur, when
she
takes her
Leave.
III.
Tho' prosp'rous
Gales
my
Canvas
croud,
Tho' smooth the
Waves,
serene the
Sky,
I
trust not
Calms
; they
Storms
forebode,
And speak th'
approaching Tempest
nigh.
IV.
Then
Virtue
to the
Helm
repair,
Thou,
Innocence,
shalt guide the Oar;
Now rage ye
Winds
;
Storms
rend the
Air,
My
Barque
thus
Mann'd,
shall
gain
the
Shore.
EPITAPH on the late Duke of
B * * *.
HERE GRUBINOT lies, on very ill Terms,
First, a Prey to the
Flies
; and then to the
Worms.
Those who grieve at his Loss, needn't
wonder
he's gone;
For the
Carcase
must
rot
; when the
Flesh
is
Fly-
blown.
But this must be said in his Praise,
Tho' Death, cruel Death, from us forc'd him;
He dy'd by endeav'ring to raise,
His old Friend that lay Dead before him.
The END of PART I.